


At the Edge of Night

by naberiie



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Isolation, Jedi Artisan, Original Character-centric, Physical Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naberiie/pseuds/naberiie
Summary: Sunette Corda never expected to be chosen as a Padawan.The Force had other plans for her; her path had been set long ago. She was more than content to spend her days as a Jedi Artisan - but as the Clone Wars rage on and the Jedi are stretched ever thinner across the galaxy, Sunette is called back to the Temple for reassignment. Her new Master holds a contentious line near the Unknown Regions at the galaxy's edge.Though she has never experienced a command post, or even a single battle, she will go, for all is as the Force wills it.





	1. Reassignment

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here for some long-form angst, do I have the fic for you. This is, by far, the heaviest thing I have ever written, fandom-centered or otherwise. Abuse does not begin until around the fourth chapter, and exact triggers will be written in the author's notes at the beginning (if I miss one please do not hesitate to let me know!). 
> 
> Sunette Corda was one of the first OCs I ever designed, and though I love her dearly, her story is not a happy one - at least for now. I know that OC stories do not attract much attention, so if you are here reading this, thank you for giving these characters a chance!
> 
> Title taken from Pippin's Song in Lord of the Rings: Return of the King.
> 
> \--
> 
> **12/30/2017 UPDATE: After a lot of thought and consideration, I have decided to scrap the implied rape/non-con of this fic. As time went on, I was more and more uncomfortable even thinking of plotting the implied rape, to say nothing of writing it - to a point where I considered deleting the work entirely. This fic, which I started writing earlier this year, was written as a personal coping mechanism and remains one of the darkest things I have ever written to reflect that. I'm in a much better state of mind than I was when I began this fic, but I still want to continue the story as I care about Sunette, Zeth, Ripley, Fog, and about sa Magre getting the death that he deserves. Thank you to everyone who has read this story; I hope to continue it and mark it 'Finished' before the year anniversary rolls around. I'm deleting the tags but did not want to erase the fact that this fic was originally tagged as such, as it's important to me to maintain that integrity of provenance. The story did not need implied sexual assault - sa Magre is still an asshole, and Sunette absolutely does not deserve that on top of everything else. 
> 
> If anyone has questions about this fic, the characters, or my decisions, I am always willing to talk over on my tumblr, @naberiie. Thank you for reading this far ❤**

Iridescent, silvery dirt gave way easily under Sunette Corda’s hands, sifting away from her touch like a gentle sigh. It was cool on her skin, pleasantly so – nowhere near cold enough that she needed gloves or inclement weather gear as it might be for other species. If there existed a planet so cold that even she, a Pantoran, would need the extra warmth, she would still have to walk on it before she could believe it. Even so, she let the chill of long undisturbed earth course through her nerves.

She let herself be washed away with the pleasant routine of her work, her mind digging with the Force in time with her fingers– _visualize_ the material, and it will show itself – knowing that it was here, very close. What would look like a worthless stone to any but the most highly trained Artisan, a material that could perhaps hold a lightsaber’s power better than purely forged metals. A light wind picked up, rocking the young Jedi ever so slightly in her simple harnesses, dangling hundreds of feet above the earth as she worked. Dirt parted beneath her hands and drifted down into the cracked ravines and stones. On this peaceful gray uninhabited planetoid, in orbit somewhere near Alderaan, Sunette worked without distraction, seeking those perfect materials to create not only a lightsaber, but also an elegant work of art, a living piece of history, one that Master Yaga would – hopefully – appreciate.

 _And not lose_ , she thought, a slight grin on her lips as her fingers closed around a smooth stone buried in that cool darkness. She didn’t need to see it in order to sense that it was exactly what Master Yaga had requested, but she couldn’t help herself when she worked it free from the surrounding stones. It was a sleek marbled stone, rippled like deep waters, heavier than it should have been sitting in the palm of her hand. Curiosity and creativity went hand in hand, after all. She could hardly be a Jedi Artisan with only one. She carefully wrapped the stone in cloth and packed it away in the pouch strapped to her hips, twisting on the rope harness seat to admire the rolling black sands of the moon. They dipped and rolled towards the horizon, dark green forests resting in the low valleys. It was a world of stark beauty, and it didn’t even have a name.

Her own lightsaber was clipped to her belt. It was one of her finest creations, one that she wore proudly everywhere she went, even though she hardly needed to use it on any front-lines. She had gone to Pantora, back to where she was born, for the hilt: a smoothed amethyst, long and coated in clear varnish for strength and stability. She had carefully worked open the magnificent dark purple geode, delicately threading each wire between crystal formations until her crystal hung, suspended, amidst a miniature cavern of glittering amethyst. The kyber crystal itself, the heart of every Jedi's lightsaber, had come from her private collection. Over the years, it had grown into several dozen near-perfect specimens that seemed to materialize in front of her every time she lead a group of younglings to the caverns. All of her materials so were saturated with the Force that they dripped with it and burned like beacons in Sunette’s mind, burned like fire in her fingertips until she uncovered them from their hiding places.

 _That_ was the true mark of a Jedi Artisan.

She shivered with delight and pressed a small button on her wrist. With a low hum, the cables under her became taut as the planted mechanism in the rock above began to reel her back up. Once she had scrambled back over the cliff's edge, Sunette quickly unclamped her equipment and headed over smooth boulders to where she had disembarked and left her Jedi starfighter – well, it wasn’t _technically_ hers, it was the Order’s – and the astromech unit who was her only company on this unnamed moon.

As she approached the ship, the yellow astromech began beeping and whirring frantically at her, and she just remembered she had shut off her comms before descending over the edge. Roughly an hour ago.

“Hey, hey! I’m sorry, S2, I forgot about the comms!” She dumped her things in the small storage locker and patted it gently on the head. “I just concentrate better when I don’t have a chatty droid in my ear, that’s all.”

It beeped at her, indignant, its domed head spinning in the closest thing to frustration it could show.

“Ah, come on, don't give me the cold shoulder. Look, you can talk all the way back to Alderaan. Deal?”

It spun around again and fixed its lens on her. It chirped carefully.

She stopped what she was doing and raised an eyebrow. Her ivory headdress clinked softly as she looked at the droid. “That's where Master Yaga wanted me to drop the materials. What do you mean, we’re not going to Alderaan first?”

Another string of beeps, relaying a message that it had obviously been trying to send while she was searching for her materials, blissfully unaware of the droid's mounting frustration. It wasn’t a very long message, but it was one she had never expected to receive. Something prickled on the back of her neck as she made S2 replay the High Council’s message.

_Artisan Corda, you are to return to the Temple at once. The Council wishes to discuss your reassignment._

Sunette bit her lip. The suns were beginning to set, she still had to deliver the materials, but for now that one word hung heavy in her mind. _Reassignment_. Surely not? She never wanted to become anything other than an Artisan, from the very first moment she stepped through the Temple doors. Especially not _now_ , not during a war. There was only one place where they would reassign her _to_ , and she didn’t like the sound of being a twenty-year-old Padawan one bit. But what choice did she have?

She climbed into the starfighter and started the takeoff procedures. As the hills beneath her grew faint, she couldn’t help but murmur, “I have a bad feeling about this, S2.”

It could only chirrup in response. 

* * *

 

People stared as she made her way to the interior Temple grounds. And it wasn’t just the usual bands of younglings who tried to persuade her to design them a unique lightsaber. Knights, Masters, even some of the clone security forces all glanced up as she walked past. She could feel their eyes on her back, and wondered if the entire Temple knew about her upcoming reassignment. A knot of annoyance worked itself in the back of her throat – should she feel ashamed of this? Reassignment was nothing unusual. But usually, one had to put one’s name down to be considered at all. Had she done something wrong, something to deserve this?

 _No_ , she thought, forcing her breathing to slow. _No. It is not a punishment unless I make it so._ Still, that knot tightened with every step she took.

She had found Master Yaga in the Great Hall and given her the materials requested. As it passed from one hand to the other, the dense stone gleamed once, twice, and then settled again. “It will make a fine, saber, Master.”

The ancient Human had grunted and pocketed it, saying disdainfully, “Aren’t you supposed to be with the Council right now?”

Even though this wasn’t the first time she had dealt with the infamously difficult-to-please Master Yaga, Sunette was taken aback. _Surely she wasn't this annoyed to receive the material firsthand, instead of having to pick it up from a drop point?_ She hadn’t even had a chance to change out of her dusty Artisan robes. Sunette surreptitiously wiped her fingers off on the edge of her robes. “I’m heading there now. I wanted to be sure you received this stone.”

Yaga nodded and jerked her head over her shoulder. “It's a good one, I can sense that clear enough. Off you go, then.” She started to walk away, then turned and smirked coolly at the young Jedi. “Perhaps we will meet again soon on the front lines.”

Sunette’s response caught in her throat and she turned away. So her suspicions were right on the mark, then.

The wide halls were bathed in golden light, muted conversations drifting through the air, covering the general unease that had become so familiar as the war went on with a false pretense of peace. Warships were being manufactured in the Coruscant shipyards as clone battalions readied themselves for war on Kamino. Future Jedi generals trained for battle as soon as they could hold a saber, practicing to avoid blaster bolts. War had shifted life at the Temple into always _preparing_ for a battle. It was exhausting – and Sunette existed at the outer edges of it. How could she handle being thrust into the very center of it all?

The massive doors to the Jedi High Council swung open as she approached, her hand raised to knock. Lowering her hand, she stopped just short of the threshold until Master Windu’s voice called, “You may enter, Artisan Corda.” Despite her trepidation, hearing his familiar voice was like balm on her nerves. Of course they had her best interest at heart. She couldn’t doubt that for a moment.

It wasn’t a full Council. It hardly ever was anymore – many of the Council members were needed off-world. Sometimes they joined via holo, but the Jedi were getting used to seeing four or five or six empty orange chairs, getting used to the efforts of wartime. Preparing.

Masters Windu, Yoda, Kenobi, Plo, and Ti, most surprisingly, nodded as the Pantoran stepped to the center of the chamber. Sunette was grateful for Kenobi’s presence above all else, though last she heard he had been somewhere near Felucia with Master Skywalker. He must have flown straight here – surely not just for this meeting? He had dark circles under his eyes, and his face was far more gaunt than the last time she had spoken with him, but still he smiled at her. Always reassuring the younger generations, despite everything.

She bowed low and said, “I came as quickly as I could, Masters.”

“Glad we are to see you, Artisan Corda,” Yoda nodded, wispy white hair catching the setting sun. “Much to discuss, we have.”

Sunette was silent as Master Plo picked up the thread of discussion. Standing before the Council was a rudimentary lesson in 'do not speak until spoken to.' “We understand that the nature of our message may have caused you some amounts of distress, and you have probably already discovered where, exactly, you are to be reassigned.”

She nodded, but waited. Master Plo continued, “As I have no doubt you’re well aware of our situation on the frontlines, we need every able-bodied Jedi to help keep the Separatists at bay.”

“You’ve made remarkable progress as an Artisan, but when the idea was first broached of the need for more Jedi on the front lines, yours was one of the first names to come up,” Master Kenobi said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “In addition to your lightsaber skills – in both construction and sparring – your knowledge of military battle strategy makes you a perfect candidate for reassignment as a Padawan learner.” He shifted and grinned at her, “Though it is a bit late to begin an apprenticeship, we believe you are more than capable of handling the responsibilities of a Padawan learner.”

Sunette bowed to them again, hoping her shields were holding up in the lofty room. The Masters’ presence in the Force was like diving into an ocean, pounds of pressure that she could never really be comfortable with hovering over her head. Before the war had begun, before the Artisan path had chosen her, Sunette had spent many a happy hour deep in the Archives, immersed in the battles of the very first Jedi, millennia ago, Master Jocasta hovering at her elbows with more maps and texts than she could count. Her thoughts were spinning madly but she managed a calm, “Thank you for your high praise, Masters.” She glanced around the room at the esteemed elders and tentatively asked, “If I may, has a Master already been selected for me?”

Master Ti was the one to answer. “Yes, child. Master Dasaed sa Magre is holding our lines on the Outer Rim, near Bespin. He is a formidable General but his successes so far from the Core are proof of his methods. He commands the 309th Battalion.” Her voice grew soft, like she was remembering those men fondly – or the closest thing a Jedi Master would allow herself to feel, “I trained them myself. They are strict, and by all accounts we owe them some of our most valuable successes.”

“Specifically requested you, Master sa Magre has, Artisan Corda.”

Sunette flushed deep indigo at Master Yoda’s words. Had she really done such exceptional work that word had spread to the edge of the galaxy itself? And to a Jedi Master she’s never heard of… “Dasaed sa Magre… I don’t believe I’ve met him before.”

“Also unsurprising. The front he holds is a high-risk zone, which has prevented his return to the Core for quite some time.” Master Windu nodded, lacing his fingers together. They were heavily bandaged.

Sunette couldn’t quite keep her eyes off of the peeling fabric. She’s had her fair share of injuries – she’s fallen off more cliff sides than she could count – but stepping onto a battlefield… “Master sa Magre is comfortable with me as a Padawan, and on such a high-risk front? I’ve… I’ve never been in combat before.”

Master Ti fixed her lilac eyes on Sunette and smiled. “I sense your nervousness, Artisan Corda. We are all in agreement that you’ll take to your new post quite well. An interest in military strategy, and your talent for Force Healing, are skills you should not waste.”

“And who knows? Perhaps ancient techniques will help secure some wins under your belt.” Master Kenobi’s ginger beard twitched in the semblance of a smile. “I am most eager to see how your training as an Artisan comes into play on the battlefield, and Master sa Magre is, as well.”

“The 309th frequently takes the brunt of damage in our Outer Rim holdings. As I know you have made stops on medbays before, to help with healing our many wounded, I think it wise to use your Force healing abilities and skills as much as possible,” Master Plo said. “Especially in the beginning. It will help the men under your command get to know you better.”

Sunette nodded. “I may not have much experience in battles, but I will do what I can for the men as I learn.”

“General Kenobi is departing tomorrow for an escort mission for the Senator from Naboo. He has agreed to escort you as far as that planet, where Master sa Magre will pick you up to return to his fleet. We do not know his exact location, as he takes great precautions to avoid surprise attacks from the Separatists.” Master Windu frowned at Sunette’s palpable shock and continued, “Artisan Corda, you must understand that time is of the essence during a war. The Dark Side of the Force is all around us, and we need every bastion against it that we can afford to spare.”

Tomorrow. So soon. But she couldn’t argue with the Council’s logic – it had probably only been a matter of time before she had been called forward to serve with others. She was twenty, but there were children on the battlefields, even now, and they had been there for years already. General Skywalker’s Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, had been sent when she was only fourteen. This was a war powered by children and Sunette had been content that her path in the Force had led very clearly away from combat years before the war had finally burst forth. But now, not even the will of the Force mattered.

Duty called. She was needed on the front lines, so she would go. She bowed for a final time and said, “I would be honored, Masters.”


	2. Last Night on Coruscant

“I still can’t believe you’re leaving.”

Sunette glanced up from her work and grinned at the deep copper Zabarak lying on her bed. “It’s not like I haven’t left the Temple before, Jya’hal.” She returned to her work, carefully wrapping her most precious materials in protective cloths. “I’ve gone on plenty of missions that have lasted more than a few weeks.”

Jya’hal groaned and rolled over to glare at Sunette. “Right but those missions didn’t take place directly on battlefields, surrounded by Separatists droids, in deep space, Sun. What was the last place you went? An unnamed, uninhabited _astroid_?”

Sunette ignored that last bit. “Also not true – I’ve been to a few med stations before, to heal some men from Master Windu’s division. Besides, you can’t complain about dangerous field placements, Miss Explorcorps.” Sunette bundled up a piece of spare cloth and chucked it at her friend’s face, who didn’t bothering catching it before it caught on her horns.

“That’s different. I’m charting space that people know fuck-all about.” She sighed and stretched luxuriously on Sunette’s bed, twining the cloth around her fingers. “I’m doing _everyone_ in the galaxy a service. Seppie space is a bit more dangerous than the Unknown Regions, what with the battledroids, and General Grievous, and Ventress, and Count Dooku…” She counted off on her fingers all the dangers that awaited Sunette, a mock expression of seriousness plastered on her face.

Sunette laughed. Jya’hal was her oldest friend, crèche-mates from their earliest days at the Temple, both designated for something other than the traditional Padawan-Knight-Master route. Jya’hal would sometimes vanish for months, only to reappear with a fouler mouth and a fuller map than when she departed. “Bespin is near the Unknown Regions. We might see each other more than we do now.”

“Ugh! I certainly hope so!” Jya’hal sprang up and sat cross-legged on the bed, wrapping a blanket over her shoulders. “Besides,” she added mischievously, quirking her eyebrow, “it’d be fun to recreate our weekends in the Outer Rim. I’ve seen some pretty great clubs, Sun! And had some _pretty_ stellar –“

Sunette stuck her tongue out, “I don’t think those weekends fall under _appropriate_ behavior for a Padawan learner.”

“Oh, fuck that.” Jya’hal wrapped the cloth Sunette had thrown at her around her head and blinked innocently up at the Pantoran. “You’re no innocent and dewy-eyed Padawan learner, Corda. I’ve seen you with a few drinks in your system and an attractive being nearby.”

“And you know what’s even worse?”

“Hmm?”

“So has Master Kenobi’s clone commander, Cody. And guess who’s escorting me to Naboo tomorrow?”

There was a moment of silence as she considered this, then Jya’hal’s laughter pealed around the room. She clutched her stomach, “How could I forget! Oh, Force bless the two-one-two, those boys know how to party! Do you think he’ll recognize you?”

“Without a doubt.” One of the few perks of wartime was that the Council’s attention was almost entirely focused offworld, leaving plenty of opportunities for ‘unimportant’ Jedi such as Sunette and Jya’hal to experience a normal life. Well, as close as any trained Jedi could. “It _was_ only dancing, though.”

Jya’hal snickered, “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

The Masters didn’t have time to worry about an Explorer and an Artisan sneaking out of the Temple for the occasional night on the town. They’d sometimes run into troopers on shore leave at some of the dance halls they frequented, sometimes do a little more than dancing and drinking. The two Jedi were anonymous, the men were on leave – everyone needed a little bit of fun every now and then. They were more than happy to provide even _those_ small comforts.

Sunette knew Jya’hal was just as worried about the sudden reassignment as she was. They’d been friends for far too long to even bother building adequate shields around each other. There were no secrets between them. Jya’hal’s fear was a steady heartbeat under their laughter. They could keep it up for a little while longer, build the illusion together.

Jya’hal winked at her. “I’d pay good money to see Cody’s reaction. I remember you guys dancing like two –“

“Hush! It’s bad enough that I’ll have to meet him against in front of Master Kenobi. I just hope he isn’t _too_ upset…”

“When, exactly, were you going to tell him that you were a Jedi – before or after you moved to that corner booth?”

A blush spread over Sunette’s cheeks. She turned away from Jya’hal and continued packing her items – crystals, metals, stones, and woods so laden with the Force that they dripped with it in her mind, scorching her fingers with searing heat, casting a deep golden glow over her room like shone like a beacon, even in the heart of the Temple.

“Even if he _is_ upset, Sun, the whole reason we could go out like that is _because_ we’re not considered Jedi in the wartime sense, in a clone trooper’s mind, that is. Would he really think that an Explorer and an Artisan stuck on Coruscant are on the same level of ‘Jedi-ness’ as his General? As the great Obi-Wan Kenobi himself?” She paused, and then added, “Do they even _know_ that Jedi like us still exist?”

Sunette chewed on the thought for a few moments, rolling it around in her mind. She was twenty years old, and up until a few hours ago, the only involvement she’d had in the war was a few stays at med-bays to help after Master Windu had intercepted her on her way back from collecting. Now, though, she was worried that the men they’d danced and drank with would think her selfish for not helping out _more_ –

“Calm your mind, Sun. It’s too nice of a day to spend it with your thoughts whirling around like that.” Jya’hal rose from the bed and reached for Sunette’s hand. “It’s your last night on Coruscant, at least until your next leave." She shuddered, her fingers warm on Sunette's blue skin. "Have anything you want to do?”

“Maybe just a walk. I don’t want to risk being disrespectful to Master Kenobi by being late in the morning.”

Jya’hal nodded, her fingers warm on Sunette’s cool blue skin. They were silent for a moment, staring at the packed things on the small desk, until Jya’hal murmured, “Does the 309 know they’re not getting a Jedi _youngling_ for a new Padawan and Commander?”

Sunette burst out laughing and elbowed her friend in the ribs. “The Outer Rim had better have some good dance halls, huh, Jya?”

“Got to show those boys how it’s done, Sun.”

* * *

 

Even at four thirty in the morning, Master Kenobi was as crisp and polished as Sunette had ever seen him. She herself had only just woken up, a mug of steaming caf in her hand, when his knock came. Her hair was pulled back in its ornamental ivory fasteners, the decorative plates over her ears equipped with comm capabilities. Ready for action.

Sunette jerked and said in a voice still cracked from sleep, “Come in, Master.” She rose to her feet as the door slid open and Kenobi stepped in, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. As he stood in the doorway in his tan robes, modified clone armor protecting his forearms and legs, her brocaded Artisan robes felt all the more stuffy and restricting. She’d have to look into modifying it once she met her Master.

“Good morning, Sunette. I hope you slept well. As Mace so wisely said, ‘time is of the essence,’ so I hope you’re completely prepared to depart within a half hour.” He glanced around the small room, his eyes falling on her packed bags. “I sense you’re bringing your Artisan materials, Padawan Corda.”

Hearing her new title was like a shock to her system, a reminder that she hadn’t just dreamt yesterday up. “I – well, yes, Master. I think it a comfort to bring them, just in case something happens to this saber.” As she spoke, her hand drifted unconsciously to the saber clipped at her side. Soon, it would see more action in one day than it had in all the time she’d had it combined. Nervousness pricked at her scalp again at the thought of leading troops into battle.  _What if they don't trust me?_

Master Kenobi chuckled and rubbed his beard. “A lesson my own former Padawan could still stand to learn. I will warn you, they _are_ particularly easy to spot in the Force. It may not be wise to bring them, especially on such a dangerous front.”

Sunette picked up the case closest to her and thumbed a simple pattern over its holographic locks. All at once, the items’ Force signature faded abruptly, like heavy electrified cotton suddenly pressed on their ears and minds. All they could sense was an unremarkable static signature. Master Kenobi raised an eyebrow and muttered, “Very clever, Sunette.” He held out his hands and she placed the heavy metallic case in them. “Did you design them yourself?”

She nodded and replied, “There was a text about how Force-sensitive beings could dampen their own signatures during the Great Sith War, until they were practically invisible. I simply… modified the materials mentioned. Took about three days to construct the cases, and the radius of the effects can even be extended to cover the person carrying them, for a short while at least.”

“Exceptional work. If I wasn’t constantly worried about Anakin and Ahsoka, I’d have gladly taken you on as my own Padawan.” Kenobi raised an eyebrow at the Padawan in an exceptional parallel to Jya’hal yesterday. “I’m sure Commander Cody wouldn’t have minded. I heard you two have… met before?”

 _Oh, Force. It’s too early for this._ “Uhm – yes, Master. The Commander and I have met. We… ah, well… danced together, a few months ago.” She squinted at him, suddenly suspicious of his eyes sparkling with mischief. “How did you know?”

“I showed him your picture yesterday and told him you were accompanying us to Naboo as a new Padawan learner. His expression spoke for itself.” He laughed again. After a brief pause he added, “I believe you’ll find relationships of that sort are not as uncommon as you might think.”

It took a moment for that statement to make its way through her drowsy mind. It was _definitely_ too early for this conversation. “Hang on – _what_?”

No matter how she pressed him, though, Obi-Wan refused to expand on that statement, only smiled at her stumbling questions. He carried her few cases out of her room as she took one last look around.

The pale blue dawn peered in through the blinds, striping the dark gray carpet and simple futon bolted to the wall. There were a thousand more just like it in the Temple, but a fine residue stuck to its walls like sand, mere whispers of her Force signature and the items she had collected. It would still be here the next time she stepped foot on Coruscant, but she would no longer be a simple wandering Artisan. How different would it look after months of cramped quarters on a Republic starfighter?

“Padawan Corda, we must leave now.”

She turned to follow Master Kenobi, and the door slid shut behind her. The Temple was eerily quiet this early. Only a few Masters striding along with purpose and similarly sleep-deprived Padawans trotting after them roamed the halls. Kenobi bowed to some, nodded to others, but did not stop to chat. They continued along in silence to the hanger where Sunette had landed just the day before, dusty from the unnamed moon. The ship she had used was still sitting on the landing pad, the astromech droid turned off and waiting for a usual checkup. They strode past it to the very end of the hanger tunnel, stepping into the hazy pre-dawn air of Coruscant.

Even at this ungodly hour, speeders and transports roared back and forth, up and down across the city-planet. The landing pad was lit with several bright floodlights, and a single transport was waiting for them – as was a familiar figure in battle-scared orange armor. Sunette gently reached out with the Force, just to make sure Kenobi wasn’t playing a trick on her – which now seemed like something he would do without a doubt – and the signature rang true. More exhausted than he had been the last time she saw him, but it was Cody underneath that armor.

Kenobi called out to him just as someone called Sunette’s named behind her in the hanger. Just as she was turning, Jya’hal nearly bowled her over, gripping her in a tight hug. Jya’hal pressed her face into Sunette’s neck, her arms wrapped around her waist. “ _Please_ be careful out there, Corda. I expect tales of your bravery while we explore the Outer Rim dance halls.”

Sunette hugged her fiercely, mindful of her friend’s many horns. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Explorer.”

Jya’hal pressed her lips to Sunette’s cheek and released her. “Go fuck up some Seppies for me, ‘kay?”

Kenobi and Cody had already boarded by the time Sunette ran to catch up. She caught a glimpse of the clone pilot – he seemed utterly disinterested in her, eager to fly. She slipped on board, and before she could let out a breath, General Kenobi said slyly, “I’m just glad I don’t have to introduce you two.”

Sunette bit back her first response, which was to jump ship, and instead managed a calm, “Nice to see you again, Commander.”

“Likewise, Padawan Corda.” His voice was calm underneath his bucket, but he was just as annoyed with Kenobi as she was. Which, that is to say, not very.

Obi-Wan grinned again and sighed good-naturedly. “Well, at least you’re not awkward about it. Next time you go out, Commander, I’d love to come as well. It seems you two know the best dance halls on Coruscant.”

There was a brief pause, and then Cody muttered, “To be honest, sir, I’m not sure you could handle it.”

Obi-Wan shook his head in mock disapproval. Sunette laughed, despite her nerves, and Cody visibly relaxed as the transport rose and headed for the 212th fleet waiting in orbit.

The Zabarak shivering on the launch pad did not move closer to the ship. Instead she watched from the hanger, waving as they boarded, waving until disappeared amongst the early morning Coruscant traffic.


	3. Kenobi and the 2-1-2

Of course she knew that the vast majority of beings on the Republic’s starships were men, and cloned _human_ men at that, with exceptions popping up here and there, but Sunette hadn’t realized just how outnumbered she would be until she spent forty-eight hours on General Kenobi’s command ship.

As a female, she attracted attention; as a female alien, she attracted attention; and as a female alien _Jedi_ , she attracted attention. Not many clones knew that Jedi Artisans still existed. It also didn’t help that when she accompanied Cody or Obi-Wan about their duties, more than a few of the men had sudden, intense blasts of recognition, staring at her in shock until Cody reprimanded them or Obi-Wan lightheartedly scolded – or, when she had grown tired of the stares, she grinned back and winked. Some of them turned away, others blushed, and at least three had laughed heartily and welcomed her aboard. Apparently, word spread quickly on Republic starfighters.

She was still an unknown new presence on the ship, so no one approached her with questions – but Master Kenobi was absolutely _delighted_ at the confusion she was causing. Before dinner the first night, Obi-Wan had called them to a private meeting and suggested they play a harmless prank on the 212 th. Sunette and Cody agreed immediately.

Cody shrugged it off when shinies cornered him in the mess, refusing to say _exactly_ how he had met the new Padawan – except to say it involved Zeltros, a great deal of glitterstim, and an extremely angry Hutt. Sunette had hushed conversations with the General about the ‘need to extract the materials from the Unknown One before it was too late,’ conversations that choked whenever a clone turned the corner. By the next morning, the 212 th were equal parts terrified and star struck. She could cleave a path through the hanger, basking in the rumors that swelled around her. By midday, she and Cody were apparently single-handedly responsible for the utter collapse of a deep underground mafia network in the Outer Rim and the return of Senator Orn Free Ta’s priceless jewels.

Still, it was an immense relief that Senator Amidala was also onboard.

Sunette would have been drawn to her regardless of her being the only other female on the ship. Like every sentient being in the Core worlds, Sunette had followed the Senator’s rise to power with rabid fascination. The uncompromising woman had been on _Geonosis_ , for Force’s sake. She’d fought in the beginning battle of the Clone Wars as a Senator, fresh from two terms as Queen of Naboo, wielding a blaster like it was nothing under mountains of luxurious ornamental robes, shrugging off assassination attempt after assassination attempt – she commanded respect and it was gladly given.

And, to Sunette’s utter delight, Senator Amidala sought _her_ out. 

* * *

 

Sunette thumbed through the Senator’s wardrobe, running her hands over heavy brocaded velvets, flowing gowns, bejeweled skirts, embroidered sleeves. Colors like jewels, soft running water, pale pastels that looked innocent and fresh spilled out of the closet space with gusto, joyous and uncontained.

“They’re stunning, Senator.” After corridors and hangers of pale gray and nothing to look out at except the blue tinged ripples of the hyperspace route, the clothes were like a welcoming bouquet of flowers. She picked up a pale ivory sleeve and examined the detailed embroidery, speckled with pearls. “I don’t even know how you put most of these on.”

Senator Amidala paused over the rim over her cup and smiled at Sunette. “It helps if you have handmaidens there to assist you. And I’ve told you, ‘Senator’ is much too formal. Call me Padmé.” She took a sip and returned the cup to the table. “I’m glad you think so. I’ve always been curious to see an Artisan Jedi at work, and when General Kenobi told me that was your previous post I just had to see what you’d say about my wardrobe.” She was, as per usual, dressed impeccably in a thick purple gown with tufted black sleeves, her hair pulled back in three gold rings. Simple travel attire, she had told Sunette.

“I usually don’t work with cloth, but the handiwork in these is just incredible.”

“So, you can sense the Force in materials like these, right?”

Sunette nodded as she pulled the ivory dress free to admire its full length. “It’s easier to sense in unfiltered natural materials, but it’s especially strong in handmade items, too.” She knelt near the hem and examined the delicate stitches. “The Force can be passed from hand to handiwork, sort of like a river branching into different tributaries, even if the creator is not Force-sensitive. Creating something, especially something of this caliber, becomes a meditation in its own right, and then the materials can pick up things, too.”

“Things? Like what?”

“It’s… difficult to explain. Memories, emotions, things that don’t typically have a physical stamp. Sort of like ephemeral snapshots, moments of intensity, that sort of thing.” The threads under the pads of her fingers blazed with pure joy, a brilliant white energy that shot through her own blood. Despite herself, she smiled down at the dress. Padmé had been very happy in this gown.

“That’s incredible!” Padmé knelt on the floor next to Sunette and cupped her hands under the ivory skirts. “You can sense the history of the item, then? In a way?”

“Exactly! Every stitch here was placed by hand. That’s powerful, it took a long time, and it required massive dedication. Each thread, every fiber and stitch, absorbed that like a fingerprint –“

“And made it so that those ephemeral things stick to it with more ease.” Padmé tugged it out of Sunette’s hands, her fingers lingering on the fabric. She pulled another – stiff red brocade – and smiled. “And that’s the philosophy you have in mind when you construct your sabers.”

Sunette beamed at her. “It usually takes me a lot longer to explain why what I do is so important.”

Padmé sat back on her heels and cocked her head. “Well, as you can see, I’m quite a fan of beautiful things.” She thought for a moment and added, “It’s like being able to read a very complicated text. A ‘living’ text of sorts, one that can hold imprinted history that Force-users can detect.”

“And one that’s been heavily annotated, too. That’s what I focus on in my own work – though, of course, I don’t create Senatorial gowns. I draw out the natural presence of the Force in raw materials, and amplify them until what I have is like a memory bank, as well as a lightsaber. I can make certain blades more defensive, if the one who wields it is known to be aggressive, or impart aggression into the blade itself – all to help the wielder best.”

Padmé considered this. “What is your saber’s strength?”

“Deflecting and mirroring. I modified it at the beginning of the war, just in case.”

“I’m sorry that it’s a modification you had to make. But, I am hopeful that the Council’s decision to reassign Jedi such as yourself will speed us towards the end of this horrible war.” Padmé’s face darkened, shadows pulling over her deep eyes.

Sunette looked away from the unbearable sadness on the Senator’s face. Silence overtook the pair until the comms unit on Sunette’s wrist beeped softly. She pressed it and a clone’s crisp voice came in, “Sir, we are approaching Naboo. The General would like to meet you and the Senator in the hanger.”

“We’ll be right there.” She rose to her feet and held out her hand to Padmé, who took it with ease. The Senator folded her clothes back into the wardrobe, fabrics whispering against each other as the bouquet disappeared once more behind harsh gray lines of the warship. 

* * *

From orbit, Naboo was a decadent jewel of a planet. Sunette’s eyes kept drifting past Obi-Wan’s shoulders to gaze up at the gentle curves of the planet as the flagship hovered comfortably in orbit. They were waiting in the hanger for both Padmé’s escort, and Sunette’s. Obi-Wan was reviewing all of her newfound responsibilities while the Senator read seemingly dozens of reports. Cody stood next to her, helmet on and silent. Still, Sunette found all of their presences a comfort. Soon she would be entirely alone – some of the shinies in the 212th had just started to work up the courage to approach her. She’d be starting from scratch very soon.

She glanced upwards again, through the shimmering blue rayshields, imagining what sort of precious materials she could eke out amongst Naboo’s wide grassy plains and dark oceans. _Could have. Probably won’t have much time to do that anymore._

The low hum of a sleek, platinum-covered starship pulled her out of her reverie, followed shortly thereafter by the familiar trill of a battle-worn space gunship. A snarling akul was painted on the nose in brilliant reds, blues, and yellows. Sunette took a breath as both Obi-Wan and Padmé turned to welcome the pilots.

As the ships landed, hissing, Commander Cody cleared his throat and glanced at her. “Nervous?”

Sunette folded her arms as a single command clone in deep burgundy armor stepped off of the gunship and made his way towards the small waiting group. He saluted both the General and the Senator as they bowed to greet him. “I’ve never had the responsibility of leading men into battle before. That’s what being a Padawan learner means now. Learning how to be a good general and leader.”

“Eh, you probably won’t do that for a few months, at least. Not until the General figures you can handle it.”

Sunette looked at Cody – battle-hardened and experienced – and so desperately wanted to believe him. She muttered, “Maybe.” But she was Master sa Magre’s first Padawan learner. Who’s to say what his teaching style would be?

The command clone of the 309th had removed his helmet and was speaking in low tones to Obi-Wan, whose face contorted into a confused frown. He and the Senator shared a concerned look. Quickly, Sunette turned to face Cody and asked quietly, “Commander, what have you heard about Master sa Magre?”

Cody was silent for a few moments. When he answered, his voice was low, like he was picking his words very, very carefully. “I’ve _heard_ that General sa Magre is one of the most successful generals in the GAR. That he always manages to grab a victory, even when defeat seems unavoidable. Though, to be perfectly honest, Padawan Corda –“ he shifted, discomfort clouding his energy – “the 309th and General sa Magre stay to themselves. I’ve never worked with them. And I don’t know of any battalion that has.”

Sunette stared at him, eyes wide. “Not a single one? That’s _impossible_ -“

“Padawan Corda, please come forward.” Obi-Wan called. She shot one last confused look at Cody, who nodded, almost imperceptibly, and stepped aside. Obi-Wan smiled warmly at her as she approached, but it did not reach his eyes. He was worried about something. Not even his mental shields could catch that emotion as it fluttered away from him. “Padawan, this is Commander Zeth of the 309th Attack Battalion. I know you were expecting Dasaed to meet you, but Zeth tells us there were pressing matters on the frontlines near Bespin.”

Commander Zeth’s single-shoulder pauldron and the kama around his waist were covered in small deep burgundy diamonds outlined in gray on a black background. His armor had long since passed its days of shiny-white, instead a worn dusty gray with patches of the same burgundy. Like many of his clone brothers, he had chosen distinct facial tattoos – an intricate block of black work design covered his chin, and Sunette could just make out sharp triangles that began just under his ears and disappeared under his blacks, following the curve of his neck.

Clones, in Sunette’s very limited experience, were some of the most open beings she had ever met. They carried their emotions in their hands and their teeth, emotions riding under heavy armor and full-coverage helmets. They weren’t afraid to show you their feelings – whether it was excitement or anger; a body language that had developed for the battlefield alongside a thousand identical faces, one that had begun to spill over to the rest of the galaxy. Sunette was confident that even if she had not been a Jedi, she’d still have been able to feel their emotions surging out of them with ease.

Commander Zeth was _shielded_.

Like blinking and breathing, she did it out of habit and without thinking, reaching out to see him in the Force. It almost stopped her in her tracks, the strength of his mental shields. His face was unreadable, like it had been carved from duracrete and plated with steel. Immediately she recoiled from his mind. _He doesn’t want to be seen_.

Sunette pushed the nagging thoughts to the back of her mind and smiled she bowed to the Commander, who nodded curtly in response. She hoped his stiff response was only because he was as cautious as she was – perhaps even annoyed that he had to leave a battle to come fetch the new and inexperienced Padawan learner.

Of course she couldn’t blame him for that, but his total lack of reaction was startling, to say the least.

“Thank you for coming to meet me, Commander. I realize how inconvenient my arrival is, but I am prepared to leave as soon as possible.” She gestured at her things stacked neatly behind her.

He stared at her, his mouth a thin line, before he grunted, “Good. We should get back to the _Justice_ soon.” He waved two troopers forward and directed them to begin loading her things onto the gunship.

Obi-Wan said, “I’m disappointed that an attack kept Dasaed behind. I would have liked to talk with him about a more cohesive strategy for the Unknown Regions. Please give Master Dasaed my regards, Padawan Corda.”

“I will, Master. And thank you for getting me up to speed on everything. I feel much more prepared now.”

“There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll be able to handle this new role with ease. I’m sure you will be a valuable addition to the _Justice_ , but I’ll be sure to check in with you every week until you feel entirely settled.”

Sunette bit back her wish to stay here, with Kenobi and the 212th. _They already know me!_ He smiled like she had blurted it out anyway. Senator Amidala grabbed her hands and wished her luck, saying that Theed would always be open to her. Cody said nothing, but as she boarded the transport next to Zeth she couldn’t help but notice Cody’s clenched fists, his tense shoulders. The uncomfortable pit in her stomach grew deeper. _Just nerves_ , she reminded herself. _That’s all._

The doors slid shut, leaving Sunette and the three troopers of the 309 in a bubble of silence. Commander Zeth did not look at her as he silently gestured to the others. As they each went about their own business, Sunette bit her lip, worried that she had somehow already managed to offend the Commander. Had her manner irked him? Or did he simply disprove of bringing an untrained Jedi to the fight? After the boisterous two days with the 212th, pranking the men with Cody and Master Kenobi’s full approval, this was almost unbearable.


	4. Dasaed sa Magre

It was obvious, after a few stilted attempts to draw Commander Zeth into conversation, that he wasn’t keen on talking to Sunette. At all. He answered her questions in grunts and clipped, one-word responses as he moved stiffly about the cockpit, leaning to examine readouts, his back to her. She shifted, unease pricking at her scalp. The cockpit of the gunship was lit with dull red lights, casting much of the small space into shadows. A few consoles hummed, or beeped, but the three men in front of her were silent as they bent over their tasks.

Sunette took a deep breath and turned from the cockpit. The thought that they might be speaking over their personal comms to each other wound through her nerve-addled mind. And there was the fact that the two pilots, like the Commander, were shielded. One clone adapting the Jedi method of mind shielding was one thing, but _three_?

Something told Sunette that they weren’t the only ones, either. Like an unseen current brushing past her in the darkness, the Force whispered that the 309th would be unlike any battalion in the rest of the army. The thought filled her with dread.

The 212th had been vibrant, _exciting_ , a humming undercurrent in the Force that sparked wildly with personality. Under Obi-Wan’s command, the blank slates of battle-bred soldiers had developed into their own selves, unique personalities flourishing before her eyes. And after their small prank had worn down, Sunette had found herself drawn to the clone soldiers as much as they were to her.

Just yesterday, Waxer and Boil had shown her holopics of a young Twi’lek girl they had grown close to on Ryloth, beaming with pride at the child’s simple Basic messages to her beloved _nera_. One of the shinies had gushed to her about his new boyfriend, a gentle-eyed black human who worked part-time at the 212 th’s favorite bar on Alderaan. Full of life, they’d put Sunette at ease for a little while.

And she had gotten no further in deciphering the strange thing Obi-Wan had said – about ‘relationships of that sort being more common than she might think.’ Surely he hadn’t meant – no. Every attempt to trick the Jedi Master into explaining himself was only met with a silent smirk. Infuriating as that had been, Sunette would have gladly given anything to back with Kenobi and the 212th.

She checked the datapad readout – four hours to go. She hummed in frustration, hands on her hips, trying to think of ways to pass the time without further offending her escorts. Her thoughts drifted to the materials snug in their compartments. Sunette risked one last glance over her shoulder – their backs were still to her. _Ugh. Alright. Fine. There’s probably a workbench somewhere._ Master Sol _did_ want his new plated cuffs within the week… Even though getting them to the opposite side of the galaxy would prove no small challenge.

At least it was something to _do_.

* * *

 

Sunette didn’t hear the trooper until he cleared his throat again and stammered, “C-commander?”

She blinked, his voice snapping her back to reality, though the back of her eyelids were tattooed with flaring geometry and intricate, hair-like wires threading in and out of her mind’s eye. She leaned back from her work – the husk of two spider-like cuffs spread on the table before her, tools sprawled haphazardly across the entire surface, a wonderful mess – and smiled at the man. “Yes?”

With his helmet on, and those impossibly strong mental shields, the clone was as difficult to read as one of Master Yoda’s riddles. His armor, like Zeth’s, was marked with deep red diamonds and stripes. _Must be of the same… squad?_ She should have spent the hours reviewing clone organization…

 “We’re approaching the _Justice_. Commander Zeth wanted me to let you know. You weren’t answering your comms…”

Sunette flinched and cursed. “Ah, I’m so sorry – I get so wrapped up in my work sometimes... Thank you coming to get me.” She pushed back from the table and stretched, her mind still very much tangled in the manipulation of the build. The trooper stood quite still in the doorway, until Sunette realized with a start he was waiting for her to dismiss him. “Uhm. Dismissed?” She hated the way the word sounded on her tongue. The formalities of military still eluded her, but it seemed to work. The clone cocked his head at her, and for a moment she sensed a flicker of confusion, but then his mind retreated back behind his shields and he stepped away.

 _Kriff – no, I can’t leave it like that. Can this day get any_ worse? “Wait, I’m sorry – could you come back for a moment?” Sunette wanted to pull her hair out but he came back. _Why am I like this, he probably thinks I’m an idiot_ –

“Yes, sir?”

Sunette looked at him, really looked at him, and asked, “What’s your name?”

He didn’t move a muscle. It was so quiet in the room that Sunette could hear the ventilation system hissing in the walls. Regret pulsed in her mind – was the 309th one of those battalions that didn’t name themselves?

“Ripley, sir.”

Surprise made her blurt, “Like Ripley La’ashdeen from the holodrama _Lakeshore Naboo_?”

Ripley’s hands clenched into fists. “Yes, sir.”

“I love that one!” She grinned and started to hum off the main theme.

She was by no means an accomplished singer, but the off-key tune evaporated his shields and his relief hit Sunette like a tidal wave. “Yes, sir, it’s my squad’s favorite one!”

“I didn’t know we could even _get_ reception out here for holodramas.”

He fidgeted in the threshold, then took an eager step in to the room. “We got special permission to use Bespin’s transmitter signal. It’s spotty, sometimes, but we wanted to be able to watch the finale this week and- “

“That’s amazing!” She laughed in delight. _Finally, finally_ , she thought, beaming at him.

Ripley nodded enthusiastically. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet now, those bizarre shields dismantled for the moment. “My squad’s all placed bets on who they think Cynij is going to end up with – my money’s on Ora’sla!” Now this – this was the language Sunette had been expecting – exaggerated motions and quick movements, clear as any spoken word or facial expression. The body language of soldiers.

“Ora’sla?! No way, Cynij loves herself way too much for that guy. She’ll end up kissing Leup, that cute Chiss girl, for _sure-_ ”

“Trooper!”

Ripley’s laugh died in his throat as he spun around, snapping to attention. Commander Zeth stood in the doorway, a deep scowl set on his face. “Trooper, I told you to inform the Commander we were approaching the _Justice_ and then come back to the cockpit, did I not?”

Ripley fidgeted and mumbled, “You did, sir.”

“So, what the hell are you doing now?”

“Going back to the cockpit, sir. Sorry, sir.” Ripley marched out of the room without so much as a single glance over his shoulder at Sunette. His shields were back up, and for a reason Sunette couldn’t pinpoint, that broke her heart.

Anger flickered in her stomach as she watched Ripley disappear around the corner. Commander Zeth still stood in the doorway, shoulders squared. A silent, looming, disapproving presence. And in that moment, she did not care if the Commander didn’t like her – he was _stuck_ with her now, and he wasn’t about to stop her from meeting his brothers. Sunette pushed away her anger and took a deep breath.

“Commander,” she began, wanting an explanation, a reason, _anything_ that would explain the 309 th to her, when he held up his hand to her and she sputtered into silence.

“It’s best if they follow any given order _exactly_ as given, Commander. Believe me. We’re stricter in this battalion for a _reason_.” He started to walk away, paused, and said over his shoulder, his voice low and gruff, “We’ll be arriving soon.” And he left her alone in the room, the silence pressing down on her like she was drowning at the bottom of the ocean. 

* * *

 

The _Justice_ was the exact same type of Star Destroyer as Master Kenobi’s – a _Venator_ class, massive and imposing, hard cold steel in the vacuum of space – and it had none of its warmth. She reached out with tentative fingers in the Force, trying to catch a filament of the souls that walked its halls. _Nothing._ Like it had been discarded here, at the edge of the galaxy. Sunette had crept back into the cockpit after Zeth, silently taking her place in the back to catch her first glimpse of – _well, what else would it be besides my new home?_

The thought did not fill her with hope.

But as she gazed out among the stars, in that inky blankness of infinite space, something more immediately wrong came to her attention.

Commander Zeth turned to her as the pilots began the landing sequence, their small shuttle maneuvering with expert ease into the ray shields of the landing bay. “General sa Magre wants to meet you on the command deck, sir. We’ll go there as soon as we land.”

Sunette frowned but nodded hesitantly. “My new Master seems to be one for delayed meetings, Commander.” She set her chin and looked defiantly up at him, aware of the silence in the cockpit, aware that the others were looking at them. Zeth halted and stared down at her, his body language challenging her. _Here, a crossroads_ , Sunette thought smugly. “There was no battle today, was there, Commander?”

It grew very cold in the small room.

Sunette _knew_ she digging into too deep, that they had only just met and she was already picking a fight with the Commander of the 309 th, but she couldn’t stop the words as they spilled over her tongue. She was furious, humiliation boiling her blood and scorching her cheeks. “There was no battle. I see no debris, no indication of even a minor scuffle with _any_ enemy – and I realize your troops are highly trained. But to clear the vacuum of space in such a short time requires a level of efficiency that far surpasses any training I have heard of.” She squared her shoulders against the dripping chill coming from Zeth as he stood, still as durasteel, in front of her. “There _was no battle_ , was there, Commander Zeth?”

He did not respond for a half-moment, then pivoted slightly so he was squarely facing her. His hands were clenched into fists and Sunette _felt_ the malice in his words as he said slowly, spitting through his teeth, “No, sir.”

She nodded, pangs of regret already flitting through her mind, but she couldn’t back down. The shuttle landed with a gentle _thud_ and it settled under their feet. No one moved. “Master sa Magre… he likes to play games, doesn’t he?”

Behind her, Ripley sucked in a breath, and the mental shields of the three men around her struggled against hidden blasts of some powerful emotions. It nearly ripped the air out of her lungs, nearly knocked her to the ground, but she didn’t move until Zeth nodded, just once, firmly. He was thinking, she could feel the undercurrent of energies buzzing in his mind, escaping like smoke through his shields. When he replied, his voice a low rumble and snap of lightning, “He is an incredibly effective General because of this… _unpredictability_ you have so keenly picked up on.” It did not sound like a compliment. Sunette wished she was just even an inch taller, so she might meet his gaze. “General sa Magre is waiting for us, Commander.”

Sunette held his gaze for a moment longer and then walked out of the cockpit, feeling the stares of the others as Zeth followed her. Her stomach churned as they walked in frigid silence down the ramp, and she wished, desperately, to apologize for snapping at him. It certainly wasn’t _his_ fault that her new Master liked to play games with people, and to lie to another Jedi Master – but for _Zeth_ , a clone, to have the confidence in sa Magre to lie to _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ defied all logic and reason. It was unheard of, and when they appeared in the open air of the hanger, the strangeness was only amplified.

It was _silent_.

Men marched across the polished steel in groups of threes and fours. Most had their helmets on, even though there was no reason to believe they might have use of them. Their ships, though coated in the grime of constant war, were unmarked. No lithe women decorated the gunships, cheekily mounted on missiles and winking. No markings of any kind. The only colors were the deep burgundies and light blues and dark burnt oranges of the various companies that made up the 309th.

It was pristine, eerily so, and combined with the silence it was like a waking dream. Sunette had expected whispers and excited chatter about a new Jedi presence, but perhaps she had misjudged the character and realities of clone troopers. Perhaps her arrival was so uneventful compared to their daily lives that she was hardly worth a second thought. The thought eased her mind somewhat as Zeth led her through the halls towards the command deck. He did not speak again.

Sunette was hit with the realization that she was finally, actually, about to meet her new Master. _But if he’s not here, if he wants me to go searching for him like I’m some naïve youngling –_ she’d turn around and fly back to Kenobi’s fleet in a heartbeat. But… no. For the first time since leaving the 212th behind her, she felt something in the Force, sensed a presence – sensed the mind of a Jedi humming behind the doors to the command deck.

Dasaed sa Magre stood with his hands clasped behind his back, but in the same moment that Sunette felt his presence, he must have felt hers, for he turned with a wide, welcoming smile on his face. He stood about halfway down the deck, silhouetted against the brilliantly starry expanse of the galaxy.

sa Magre stood nearly four inches taller than the clones. He was a pale-skinned Human, with a full salt-and-pepper beard and the hair to match. His eyes were blue and despite his smile, worry lurked there. He looked tired – but what Jedi Master wasn’t, at this point in the war? His lightsaber was clipped to his belt, and despite herself, the Artisan part of her mind smirked at its simplistic design, her trained eyes picking out materials even younglings had access to for their first designs. Even his dark robes were simple, basic – cut for efficiency and speed. Dasaed sa Magre was a General, more than a Jedi, more concerned with efficiency than any sort of aesthetic. Sunette could see that the instant she made eye contact with him.

“Welcome!” His voice boomed out, surprisingly cheery despite the intense focus of the deck around him. Here, at least, things were beginning to feel like normal – the men turned and watched, their faces guarded, as Sunette strode forward – but it was impossible to work on a command deck and be silent. Relief spread through her blood at the murmured conversations around her, and she beamed as she bowed to her new Master. “Welcome, welcome, _welcome_ , Sunette Corda!”

She straightened from her bow and grinned shyly at him. “Master sa Magre, it is so good to finally meet you!”

“Yes, I’m sure you’ve had quite the journey! I can understand how sudden the reassignment must have felt – when did you get the message?”

“Four days ago, Master.” Sunette clasped her hands together and smiled shyly at him. “But it honestly feels like lifetimes ago now. I was gathering materials for another Master’s saber when the Council contacted me.”

He laughed and settled his hands on his hips. His smile was kind as he looked over her. She could feel his gaze in the Force as she did the same, gently peering into what he was letting her see. He was less guarded then the men around him, and the one word that settled in her mind was _power_. “Four days! And here you are. This is good news indeed! Efficiency is key, my young Padawan. Especially with our territory here.” He swept his arms out over the window and continued, gesturing to her to walk with him. “I do hope you’ll forgive me for not being able to _personally_ meet you near Naboo. Things to do here, you understand. I hope Commander Zeth treated you well during the escort?” His gaze flicked over her shoulder to where Zeth stood a respectful distance behind them.

At the sound of his name, Zeth straightened – and when sa Magre’s eyes landed on him, Zeth’s mental shields instinctively tightened. Sunette felt it, as clearly as if he had pinched her mind. She frowned but made no mention of it. “Yes, Master, Commander Zeth was very kind to me.” At her words, she could have sworn Zeth relaxed, ever so slightly. _Like he had been afraid of my response?_

Master sa Magre grinned, holding Zeth’s gaze for a moment longer. “Good,” he murmured, nodding slowly. “Very good, indeed.” Suddenly his eyes snapped back to hers like a hawk. “You know, Sunette, I’ve admired your bladework for quite some time now. Every Master who has used one of your sabers commends them on their construction.” He smiled kindly and held out a hand to her, his palms calloused from many decades of saber training. “May I?”

Sunette nodded and unclipped her amethyst saber from her hip. She was used to others wanting to examine it – it was an unusual material, to be sure, difficult to work with and often more effort than it was worth. When she placed it in sa Magre’s hands, his fingers brushed against hers, warm in that unnatural Human way, and despite herself, a slight thrill ran through her stomach. He turned it over in his hands, examining its make, handling it with such care Sunette wondered if his saber hadn’t been constructed by an Artisan after all.

He thumbed the activation node and it hummed to life, a deep blue blade tightly arcing from the hilt. Like any saber, being this close made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Lightsabers were powerful, Artisan sabers even more so – and when they were activated they pulled close the Force around them.

sa Magre clicked his tongue in approval and the saber deactivated. Sunette was aware of the entire command deck watching the exchange, and as soon as the deep blue light vanished a breath of relief spread through the deck. Even non-Force sensitive beings could feel the raw strength of a well-made saber, could feel how it pulled things like dense pocket of gravity. “ _Exceptional_ ,” he breathed out in wonder. “I’ve no mind myself for this, but what you’ve accomplished is nothing short of exquisite.”

She dipped her head in pleasure, his praise already spreading over her mind with pride. Never mind Zeth and his sour behavior, she wasn’t here for him – she was here to train under a Jedi Master. _Maybe this won’t be so terrible after all._

He went on, “We’re running a dangerous zone out here, Padawan Sunette. I know your training as an Artisan, your ability to see things in creative and unexpected ways, will undoubtedly be to our advantage.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a soft smile, his eyes crinkling up like a proud father. “Welcome aboard.”


	5. First Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for physical abuse at the very end of this chapter.

Sunette twirled her new Padawan braid under her fingers, examining her dark purple hair with mixed feelings. It was a great honor, to be sure – but did it have to be so _ugly_? She sighed and tugged at it, pain tightening underneath her scalp behind her right ear, as she dug through her materials. _A bead, or a shell, a small jewel, anything to tie it down… Ivory? Do I still have some left over…?_ She clucked her tongue in triumph, humming with pleasure, and withdrew a tiny scrap of that material, small enough to tie to her braid. As she turned it over in her fingers, a thousand images of what she might carve into it flew through her mind, all vying for her attention.

“Yikes is _right_ , Sun. Whoever decided those braids were a good idea was obviously delusional.”

Sunette snorted at the holo of Jya’hal. The Zabarak, true to her nature, was lounging on her bed – and where exactly that was, Sunette had no idea. Somewhere in the Unknown Regions, that was all the reference she had. Jya’hal had left the Temple not three days after Sunette, destined for the frontier in a surprisingly spacious two-person ship. “Jya, you’ve actually _seen_ Padawans before, haven’t you?”

Jya’hal shrugged, her attention on the console in front of her. “Well, sure. But it’s one thing to see it on those drab beige Padawans – almost, like, I expect such a… _look_ from them.” She shook her head and shot Sunette a wild grin. “But on _you_? Not so much. I hope you’re planning some modifications to that thing?”

Sunette _tsk_ ed in mock disappointment. “Have you already forgotten who I am?”

The hologram flickered in and out of focus, but Jya’hal’s warm belly-deep laugh still instilled a sense of home, of peace, in Sunette. Space never felt cold with Jya’hal – even when she was who knew how many lightyears away. “I just had to make sure! Couldn’t let my best friend walk around with a boring, stringy braid – how in the stars could _that_ motivate the troops?”

Sunette was wiping tears from her eyes, her stomach heaving with laughter, the small piece of ivory still pinched between her fingers, when there was a knock on her door.

She held out her hands to Jya’hal in apology. The Zabrak shrugged but made no move to end the transmission. Instead, she leaned back in her seat and grinned. Sunette sighed, accepting her friend’s stubbornness, and called out, “Come in.”

The door slid open to reveal Commander Zeth, his helmet off and replaced with a surprisingly sheepish twist to his features. He opened his mouth to speak but then started at the hazy blue projection taking up most of Sunette’s room. “Commander Zeth!” Sunette said, hoping that her voice didn’t betray her surprise. _Why_ him, _of all the people on this ship?_

His eyes darted to the holo of Jya’hal just as the Zabrak spun to see the intruder – and when she saw the Commander, Jya’hal’s eyes lit up with an all-too familiar mischievous glint. Even in the monochromatic harsh blues, Sunette knew _exactly_ what Jya’hal was about to say. “Hello, Commander! Has the _lovely_ Sunette had time to tell you about the time when she and-”

Sunette launched herself upright from her seat, fingers scrambling for the correct switch as the words tumbled out of her mouth, “Nope! Bye, Jya’hal-I’ll-talk-to-you-soon-have-fun-out-on-the-frontier!”

Jya’hal’s boisterous laughter echoed in the small quarters, even as the transmission fizzled out like water on hot durasteel. Sunette felt a blush rising up her neck and let out a shaky breath of relief – no need for the good Commander to know about how she used to behave. Before the reassignment. She cleared her throat and straightened. “Aha, hm. How can I help you?”

He was still staring at the holoprojector, his left hand clenched so tightly on his helmet she feared it might break. And when he finally spoke, his voice came out strangely hoarse, “Who was that?”

Sunette waved vaguely in the air and murmured, “An old friend, from the Temple – she just wanted to check in, but she’s a handful, so…” She trailed off, smiling awkwardly, hoping to ease the tension between them. His glance returned to her, but his eyes were still wide, a glint of unease swimming deep behind the warm umber. She narrowed her eyes and murmured gently, “Is… is everything all right, Commander?”

It took only a half-second, a miniscule fraction of time, but Sunette still saw that emotion loom up and then vanish back down, deep inside his mind. The mental shields locked down. He gave himself a shake and said, as calmly as if nothing unusual had happened, “Commander, I wanted to speak with you. About what happened on the command deck.”

She frowned at him in confusion and gestured him inside. He hesitated but nonetheless stepped in. “What… what do you mean?”

“When the General asked about the flight in. You said I had treated you kindly.”

Now Sunette was more confused than ever. “…Yes?”

Zeth’s eyes met her own, unreadable. “That wasn’t true. I wasn’t… I was short with you.”

Sunette opened her mouth but found the words would not come. She closed it again, after a moment, because something told her the Commander was not yet finished. He shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “I was cross. But you didn’t tell the General about that. And then, we almost fought – argued, anyway – and you didn’t mention that, either.”

She stared at him. Amidst the cold gray steel of the warship, Zeth, in his warm burgundy armor, was arresting to look at, and a twinge of something like pity rang through her heart. “Well… why would I?”

He gave no answer, hesitating as he struggled to find the words. Sunette had gotten the impression the Commander was a man of few words, but it needn’t be so difficult. Was she truly that unapproachable, that even a Commander would find himself tongue-tied?

Annoyance flared up in her stomach – she never had time for this sort of thing, this sort of hesitant and maddeningly vague communication before, but now? When she was apparently expected to command troops? _No_. She folded her arms. “Commander Zeth, please, just be straightforward with me. I didn’t feel the need to tell my new Master all the details of our conversation on that shuttle. Why did that bother you so much?”

“It doesn’t.” He met her eyes, and when he spoke again she noticed with a start that his canines were unnaturally sharp. _Bodymods_ , she realized. _But why…?_ His words stopped her thoughts in their tracks. “I wanted to thank you.”

“…Oh.” That was almost worse than speaking in riddles. If anything, Sunette had _more_ questions now spinning in her mind. But she could not stop a small, relieved smile spreading over her face at the thought no, Commander Zeth did not hate her. Or, at the very least, did not resent her for her actions on the shuttle. “In reality, Commander Zeth, I was only trying to make up for my behavior on the way here. It’s not your fault that my – my Master changed plans without warning anyone.” She met his eyes again, reaching up absentmindedly to play with her new Padawan braid. “I’m very far out of my depth here, and I… well, I acted out of stress, I suppose. And Master sa Magre didn’t need to know that. I’m glad – that is, I hope you know that it won’t happen again.”

Zeth hesitated, and then – he actually gave her a barely visible ghost of a smile. It disappeared as soon as it had appeared but Sunette felt as if she had captured Dooku himself. “Don’t worry, Commander. First nerves get everyone, they always do.” He took a step towards the door, nodding at her as he put his bucket back on before heading into the hallway. “It’s behind us.”

She waited until the door was closed again before bursting into delighted, relieved laughter. It bubbled up out of her and she clapped a hand to her mouth, still giggling. _Thank the Force!_ _Everything is going to be okay_ , she told herself as she picked up the small piece of ivory again, mind alight with potential. _It’s going to be fine._

* * *

 

“Padawan, _now_! You have an opening!”

“Yes, Master!” Sunette launched herself from her hidden position in the rocks, landing squarely on top of a CIS tank and slicing through one of its guns like butter. Her squad followed close behind, fanning out as she made quick work of another tank. Constant chatter on her wrist comms rose and fell with every advance. Blaster fire, red and blue, cracked through the air around her.

That was something no one ever told you. That battles had a sharp, static heat that soaked into your skin and burned your lungs. Every muscle in her body ached, but she could feel the adrenaline pulsing off of her, the men, the entire company, as they pushed forward.

Her Master watched from a secure location, directing the action like a much bloodier version of dejarik.

They were on some rocky moon, surrounded by ancient, deserted homes carved into the layered cliffs. A brilliant orange sky above them was peppered with sickly green explosions, smoky remnants of Separatist ships drifting away in the winds. She knew there were some materials here, buried deep in the ancient rock. But her attention was entirely on the battle, on the objective at hand. She could worry about needling out new materials after the day was won.

She thought, very calmly despite the circumstances, that being in a battle was much easier than she had anticipated. Leading the troops was easier than she had anticipated. _But that probably has more to do with their training than mine._ The men around her acted like an extension of her own self, moving into position, laying cover fire, charging ahead without needing her expression permission. _If anything_ , Sunette thought as she blocked another shot, her saber’s energies thrumming through her blood like fire, I’m _the one slowing_ them _down._

Commander Zeth, twin blasters smoking in his hand, had been by her side since the moment they had begun the attack. Sunette could sense every moment he silently checked on her, grateful for his presence. When Master sa Magre had told her she was going to be leading the advance down the bottleneck, she’d almost blanched in fear – but Zeth’s presence was a comfort. He knew what he was doing. Every so often he would angle his body, shoot an opening, somehow call her attention to an opportunity she was not yet trained to see, all without saying a word. Clones were quick learners, they had to be – and apparently, they were also excellent teachers.

Sunette wondered how much of that was their training, and how much of it was simply Zeth, leading yet another unexperienced soul in their first day of action.

They drove through the bottleneck with ease, the rest of the clankers falling with ease. As they took control of the station, Sunette contacted Captain Boost, who was leading the charge opposite, through the twisting natural tunnels in the cliffs. “Captain, we’ve reached the rendezvous point. What’s your status?”

Boost’s voice came through, choppy and strained: “We were ambushed, Commander – squadron of B2 supers surprised us – I ordered us a quick retreat, but we won’t be able to help you until we clean up this mess here!” Suppressed blaster fire echoed as they came through on the comms.

Sunette shifted, anxious. She glanced at Commander Zeth, who stood next to her, thankful for the thousandth time for his quiet presence. “Understood. Captain, protect yourselves first. As soon as we finish, I can-”

“ _No_.”

Either her adrenaline was still too powerful for her to sense her own Master’s presence, or he was hiding his Force signature. Sunette did not like either option. He walked up the bottleneck, stepping over fallen droids and men without a downward glance. Fog, the medic, went to a man clutching his side in agony as the General walked passed, unseeing. “Master sa Magre, the men-”

“The men disobeyed a _direct_ order, Padawan Corda. They were ordered to push through the tunnels and secure this point.”

“But-”

sa Magre held up a hand and Sunette stuttered into silence. Her Master held up his own comms and said quietly, “Captain Boost, do you hear me?”

“Yessir.”

“Push through, now. That’s a direct order.”

Silence crackled through the air before Boost’s voice came through again. It had a weary edge to it Sunette did not like. “Yes, sir.”

“And, Captain – when you get here, I need to speak with you. Privately.”

Boost hesitated only for a moment. “Of course, General.

Zeth tensed next to Sunette. Master sa Magre nodded and then turned to face his Padawan. He stared at her for a few moments, before a slow smile curled over his features. Despite the heat, she suddenly felt very cold. Even for a Pantoran. “You will join me when the Captain finally arrives, Padawan. You have done well today.”

She nodded, unease prickling the back of her neck. sa Magre continued, unconcerned with the change of atmosphere around him, “We have a tight schedule, men. I expect everyone to follow every order, to the letter. Without order, we quickly descend into chaos. Is this understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” The men circled around them said as one.

* * *

 

Boost was only a few minutes late, but from how Master sa Magre acted, it might as well have been days. When he emerged from the tunnels, covered in dust and mud to the point where his dusty blue armor markings were entirely hidden, one didn’t need to be a Jedi to sense his utter exhaustion.

He had gone into the tunnels with a company of thirty.

He emerged with nine.

Sunette wanted to – she didn’t know _what_ she wanted to do. Cry? Offer him a comforting hand, a simple touch on the shoulder? Go back into the tunnels and drag any man she could find back to the surface?

But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t sense any man left alive in the tunnels.

They’d walked into a massacre.

Her mind was buzzing, her emotions rocketing around her brain and smashing into the walls of her skull. She didn’t understand. She had managed to take the point. Why not let Boost retreat, protect his men?

_What was happening?_

Captain Boost walked straight to where Master sa Magre waited for him, hands clasped behind his back. Sunette stood at his side, chewing the inside of her lip. sa Magre stared coldly as the Captain saluted, then nodded. He started to walk back towards the tunnels, away from the rest of the company. All of whom were now very intensely focused on something else, anything else. None of them glanced at the trio. “Come, Sunette.”

She didn’t want to.

Without meaning to, her eyes slid to where Commander Zeth was watching. He was the only one watching. He gave her a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Fear coiled around her heart, slithered in her belly, but she followed. Boost was silent, his spine ram-rod straight, his mental shields clamped firmly down.

_Force_ , she didn’t want to follow.

sa Magre stopped, and without turning, he said, once more, “ _Come_ , Padawan. Now.”

The tunnels were filled with a heavy presence of death, of suffering. Blast marks scorched nearly every inch of the carved rocks. Sunette shivered. Her Master led them farther into the tunnels, the stench of fear heavier with every passing moment. She glanced at Boost, who bore it silently, though he had passed through these tunnels not minutes before, death snapping at his heels.

“Sunette, stop there.”

Her feet obeyed, even as her mind reeled in confusion.

sa Magre turned to face Boost, who had also stopped. He was almost a half-foot shorter than his General, and for a moment no one spoke.

“You disobeyed a direct order, Captain.”

Boost did not answer.

sa Magre went on. “You disobeyed me, your General.”

Still no answer.

“Because of you, clone, my Padawan risked her life. She had to pick up your slack, make up for your laziness.” sa Magre’s eyes flashed as he leaned in close to Boost’s face. “Apologize, clone.”

Boost cleared his throat, and shifted to face Sunette, who was staring on, wide-eyed in confusion. _It’s not necessary_ , she thought. _He was protecting his men._

“Commander, I apologize for my actions.” His voice shook, wisps of fear snaking through his words. She desperately wished for this to stop.

She shook her head. _You were protecting_ -

sa Magre’s fist slammed into Boost’s stomach, and he dropped like a stone to the tunnel floor. Through his helmet, his breath came short and shallow, wheezing like some awful animal, as sa Magre towered over him. “Disobey me again, clone, and I will have you sent back to the factories on Kamino.” He spat the words like blast bolts to the Captain, who clutched his side but did not move from his knees.

Sunette took a step towards him, curses and cries lying heavy on her tongue, “Master, _please_ , he was only-”

Master sa Magre turned his gaze to her and Sunette felt the words die in her throat. “A lesson had to be learned today, Padawan. Now, the Captain knows to not disobey me.” He kicked at Boost, who shouldered the blow silently. Every cell in Sunette’s body screamed to go to him, but her Master’s gaze held her steady. “We cannot afford lazy mistakes like this. Ever.

“Do you understand?”

_No. Monster._

“Yes, Master.”


End file.
